


one night you're here (next night you're not)

by symphony7inAmajor



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Tenderness, literally? how do i tag this it's just so stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-14 23:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20608871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symphony7inAmajor/pseuds/symphony7inAmajor
Summary: Brandon is a little worried about coming back to Winnipeg.(he's doing okay. all things considered)





	one night you're here (next night you're not)

**Author's Note:**

> for prompts 4. Napping in sunshine and 17. Your bed after traveling from [this](https://heir-to-the-diamond-throne.tumblr.com/post/151164415366/64-sensory-prompts) list 
> 
> look i MISS THEM. okay.
> 
> title from "tenderness" by general public. i've waited for the day i could use it for a title

Brandon is a little worried about coming back to Winnipeg. 

He’s not worried about the game or anything. After all, that’s just hockey. Hockey’s always the same—skate, check, pass, shoot. It doesn’t matter who he’s playing against. 

He drums his fingers against the armrest, a little tense. The plane hits some turbulence and his stomach twists, his hand tightening around the armrest. He realizes what he’s doing and laces his fingers together in his lap.

It’s a poor substitute for Adam, but he takes what he can get. He’s doing okay, all things considered. 

The plane lands and he squeezes his hands together. If Adam were here, he’d lean over and make a joke, try to make Brandon laugh and get him to relax. Adam was always better at flying than him.

He checks his watch on the bus, wondering if Adam is still up. It’s not too late yet, but Adam likes to go to bed earlier the night before a game. Brandon thinks about texting him. It would be easy to know, but for some reason, he doesn’t.

“You got plans, bud?” 

Brandon jumps, startled. Rust is eyeing him curiously. Brandon frowns at him. He’s kind of bitter about losing his nickname. He tucks his phone into his jacket pocket.

“Maybe,” he says mildly, then curses his vague reply as Rust’s eyes widen.

“Whoa,” he says, grinning, “do you have a Winnipeg girlfriend or something?” 

“Or something,” Brandon says, smiling faintly as Rust waggles his eyebrows before sliding back into his seat. He exhales shakily. He kind of wishes he’d told the team that he was going to see his _ boyfriend _ while he’s here, but he could never be sure how they’d react and it feels too late now. 

After all, on a team with _ Sidney Crosby, _ nobody would notice if their new fourth liner got traded again, or even if he disappeared into the minors. So. Brandon hasn’t really been bold enough to do it. 

He misses that, with the Jets. They’d all known, and while not all of them had liked it, at least Brandon had Adam with him. Plus, Mark talking sternly to everyone who’d had a problem while Blake loomed in the background to offer occasional and threatening advice had resolved any issues pretty quickly.

Brandon drops his suitcase off in his room and takes a change of clothes in an extra bag before he goes downstairs and calls a cab.

The city feels familiar, but at the same time, there’s something off about it. It’s almost like everything shifted an inch to the right while he was away, leaving him feeling disoriented and unsteady. 

He picks at the seat upholstery, tugging a loose thread until the taxi slows to a stop in front of Adam’s building. For a second, he thinks about telling the driver to take him back to the hotel, but he finds himself instead pulling cash out of his wallet and stepping into the cold night. 

Brandon doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. Maybe, he thinks, Adam will be different, too. Like the city, that changed only ever so slightly while he was gone but still enough to notice, still enough for it to _ feel _ different.

It’s not _ home _ anymore, Brandon realizes. That’s why it feels so wrong.

A gust of wind ruffles his coat and sends a shiver up his spine. He shakes himself off and heads for the doors.

He stands between the sets of doors that lead outside and into the lobby of the building, fingers hovering over Adam’s name on the screen.

He hesitates, but there’s no choice, not really. He can’t live the rest of his life wanting to be with Adam but being too scared to even see him. Brandon presses Adam’s name. 

“Yeah?” 

Brandon’s breath catches in his throat at the sound of Adam’s voice. Even crackling over the speaker, it makes him feel better. He still sounds the same. 

“It’s me,” Brandon says. He waits a second. “It’s Br—”

“Holy shit!” Adam squawks. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Babe, my place is a fucking _ mess _ right now. Can you come back tomorrow?”

“You wish, dumbass,” Brandon says. He smiles fondly, grinning when the lock clicks open. “See you in a minute,” he says softly, even though the line is dead. He missed Adam, he’s allowed to get a little sappy. 

Brandon drums his fingers against his thighs on the elevator ride up, then walks as briskly as he can without jogging to get to Adam’s door. 

He’s barely even touched his knuckles to the door when it swings open. Adam is standing there, flour in his hair and smudged on his cheeks. He has a measuring spoon in one hand and he’s wearing the paisley apron Brandon had given him as a joke. He’s the best thing Brandon’s ever seen. 

“Brandon,” says Adam.

“Adam,” says Brandon.

They stare at each other for a long moment.

Then, at the same time, they both step forward and wrap their arms around each other. Brandon buries his face in Adam’s chest, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Under the smell of baking, Brandon can smell the soap Adam uses, the scent of his laundry detergent, all the things that make up _ Adam. _

Adam has his face buried in Brandon’s hair. Brandon is at least ninety-five percent sure that he’s sniffing him. Or crying. Maybe both. 

Eventually, they go inside and shut the door. Adam’s eyes are suspiciously bright, but no tears have fallen. Brandon reaches up and takes Adam’s face in his hands, pulling him down to kiss him.

As Adam’s hands slide into his hair, his mouth curving into a helpless smile against Brandon’s, Brandon feels something settle in his chest. It’s as if the last piece of a puzzle has finally been put in its proper place.

He’s pretty sure Adam is leaving flour in his hair and on his skin, but he can’t bring himself to care. He curls a hand around Adam’s waist and pulls him closer.

They have to separate to breathe, which, Brandon thinks dazedly, is awfully inconvenient. He strokes his thumbs over Adam’s cheekbones, then leans up on his toes to give him a quick kiss. 

“Go finish your cookies,” he says. “I’m going to have a shower.” He gives Adam a significant look before brushing past him to go to the bathroom. 

“I hate you,” Adam calls after him. 

“Uh huh,” Brandon replies. “Why don’t you finish up in there. Then come tell me about how much you hate me.” He shuts the bathroom door and grins at himself in the mirror.

He’s rinsing shampoo out of his hair, eyes closed against the lather, when he hears the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. By the time he’s clear of shampoo suds, Adam is joining him in the shower.

“Hey,” Adam says, taking Brandon’s hands and tugging him forward a step. “I miss you.”

Brandon’s squeezes Adam’s hands. 

“I miss you, too,” he says, his voice a whisper that can barely be heard over the rushing water. “But I’m here now.”

“Let’s make the most of it, right?” Adam grins at him like an idiot. 

Still, Brandon reflects as he rolls his eyes and leans up to kiss him, he’s _ Brandon’s _ idiot. That must count for something.

Later, Brandon gets ready for bed a little more slowly than Adam. Adam curls up in bed while Brandon leans against the doorframe and brushes his teeth. He watches Adam shift around until he’s comfortable, smiling around his toothbrush at the way Adam mutters to himself, occasionally punching pillows.

He finally joins Adam, sliding under the warm blankets to lie next to him. Adam rolls onto his back, grabs Brandon’s arm, and pulls him over so Brandon is pressed up against his back. He laces their fingers together.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Adam mumbles sleepily. Brandon kisses his shoulder and lets himself sink into the comforting familiarity of the room, the bed, of Adam in his arms.

He’s asleep before he knows it. 

* * *

Brandon has to leave early the next morning to make it back to the hotel in time to get ready for morning skate, so he gets dressed quickly and presses a quick kiss to Adam’s forehead. 

“I’ll see you later,” he whispers. “Love you.” 

Brandon gets a few _ looks _ at practice. Rust has a disturbingly knowing expression on his face. Brandon does his best to ignore them and heads onto the ice as fast as he can.

There are still a few hours after practice before they have to be on the ice again. Brandon waits outside the hotel and calls Adam.

“Hi,” Adam says. “How was practice?” 

“Oh, you know,” Brandon says vaguely. The hockey player in him resists telling Adam anything that could be useful. “How was yours?”

“Oh, you know,” Adam mimics, and they both laugh. “Come over? We can have lunch and, um. You can nap here. I know you sleep better at home than in a hotel bed.” 

_ Home, _Brandon thinks, his stomach feeling warm. He likes the sound of that.

“Yeah,” Brandon says softly. “I’ll see you soon. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Adam says. He makes a kissing sound over the line and Brandon laughs at him before hanging up. 

“I knew it!” someone says. Brandon almost falls off the bench. Rust steps in front of him, grinning. “That was your girlfriend, wasn’t it?” He looks awfully pleased with himself.

“Uh,” Brandon says.

“Is she coming to the game tonight?” Rust interrupts before he can say anything.

“Er,” Brandon says, “yeah?” 

“Cool,” Rust says. “You’ll have to introduce her to the team.” 

“You’ve already met him,” Brandon says weakly, but Rust is too far away to hear him. He buries his face in his hands. “Ugh,” he says, with feeling.

This time, when Adam opens the door, Brandon steps straight into his arms and wraps his arms around Adam’s waist. 

“Whoa,” Adam says, hands coming up to Brandon’s shoulders. “You okay?”

Brandon nods against his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, voice muffled. “I wish I could just, you know. Tell everybody that I don’t have a Winnipeg _girlfriend.” _

“Oh,” Adam says. He pulls Brandon inside and wraps him in a proper hug. “You know it’ll probably be fine, right?”

“‘Probably,’” Brandon mutters.

“Sorry,” Adam says meekly. Brandon bumps his forehead against Adam’s collarbones and steps back.

“It’s fine,” he says. He shakes his head. “Whatever, I’m hungry.”

Adam slings an arm around his shoulders and walks him to the kitchen.

“Well,” he says extravagantly, “this will blow your mind.”

_ This _is two plates of trainer-approved pre-game chicken and pasta. 

“Awesome,” Brandon says. He means it.

Adam grins at him brightly and passes him a plate. 

They eat slowly, ankles hooked together beneath the table. They talk a little bit, about the parts of their summers that they haven’t already talked about and even about parts that they already have.

After they eat, Brandon changes into sweats and one of Adam’s shirts and curls up beside him in bed. The blinds aren’t closed and the curtains have a gap where the October afternoon sunlight shines through. 

Adam is sprawled on his front, arms shoved under the pillow and his face turned away from the light. Brandon watches his face, realizing that it might be a little creepy, but unable to bring himself to care. He reaches out and settles his hand on Adam’s bare back, dragging his fingertips over the bumps of his spine, the curves of his muscles. Adam shivers, cracking one eye open. 

Brandon looks at him until he blushes and turns his face into the pillow, then looks at his back again, his eyes tracing the path of his hands across Adam’s sun-warmed skin.

“Brandon?” Adam says, his voice quiet and sleepy.

“Yeah?” Brandon looks back to his face. Adam’s expression is soft and open.

“I really am glad you’re home,” he says softly. 

Brandon brushes his fingers through Adam’s hair.

“So am I,” he whispers. “So am I.”

* * *

“So, was your girlfriend here?” Rust asks after the game. 

They’re all packed up and waiting to board the bus after the game.

“Uh huh,” Brandon says, distracted by a text from Adam. A few of the guys want to see Brandon to say goodbye before he goes. 

“Looks like there are some guys here for you.” Rust nudges him and he glances around to see Adam and some of his old friends. 

“Hey, babe,” Brandon calls. Adam grins hugely and picks up the pace.

“Um,” says Rust, but Adam is in front of him and Brandon fists his hands in the lapels of his suit and pulls him down into a kiss.

There’s a bit of an uproar from the team, but Brandon ignores them and focuses on the feeling of Adam’s hands on his face. They keep it mostly tongue-free—mostly—and separate before too long.

“I’ll miss you,” Adam says. “I love you.”

“Call me as often as you can, alright?” Brandon kisses him once more. “Love you.” He smooths down Adam’s jacket, says goodbye to his old teammates and he gets on the bus. Crosby gives him a significant look as he passes him, and nods once. Brandon relaxes. At least someone’s got his back.

Now it’s time to go.

**Author's Note:**

> :'(
> 
> [tumblr](https://symphony7inamajor.tumblr.com)


End file.
